


Knife

by Attaining



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Post-Series, Unhealthy Coping, reference to suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 09:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17915966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attaining/pseuds/Attaining
Summary: Theon and Jaime have more in common than they want to admit.





	Knife

**Author's Note:**

> IDK this idea just wouldn't get out of my head. Just imagine "Take Me To Church" by Hozier for this fic. Another in my short series of Theon pairs post-series. 
> 
> My apologies if there are any errors around Jaime and Cersei, I'm not as familiar with them. I'm borrowing the fan theory that Jaime kills Cersei in the end. Sorry, Cersei!

The wind whipped through his short hair and threatened to pull him into the ocean, or at least the rocks.  _ Is this what Tommen did before he jumped? Look and wonder why he didn’t die with her? _

One step forward and he would feed the crabs. Why not? The last time he would ever see those green eyes and it was filled with hate. Lady Olenna, the wrinkled old bag, had been right.  _ But we are the death of each other, how romantic. _

Wine hummed in his veins and he watched the goblet tumble down into the darkness, the clank of the spinning metal drowned out by the crashing waves. He had tried to end the whole world for her, but in the end he took her life.

“Tell me,” he slurred to the figure that approached him in the dark. “Am I the Kingslayer or the Queenslayer?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Drunk?” he laughed and spread his arms, teetering on the edge. “That’s not much of a name. I killed them before they killed the realm, and I’m none the better for it. You’re welcome, leal subjects of the crown.”

Suddenly he was falling backward into a pair of strong arms and they stumbled together, falling in a heap. When his swimming vision cleared, he saw blue green eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Well, perhaps not so leal. Greyjoy, what are you doing here?”

“Came to find you. They said you’d try this.” For a man grown, he spoke so quietly, half fearful of Jaime. A far cry different from the brash lad who suggested The Young Wolf send his head to King’s Landing.

“And why not give me a push? You were practically suckling Robb Stark’s newly dropped balls on the battlefield, how _did_ you find yourself betraying him?”

“I was a fool,” Greyjoy muttered and helped him to stand. The world tilted and spun, and if not for his arm round the other man’s shoulder, he’d be back on the stones. “Like you.”

“Like  _ me?  _ I worshipped her and I’ll not regret it. You wouldn’t understand.” He breathed against Greyjoy’s neck and he smelled of clove. Gods, he needed her. He hadn’t been with anyone but Cersei in all his life, and now she was dead and he was scenting the eunuch like he was the waif to save him. 

He felt Greyjoy tense beside him as he half dragged Jaime back to his chambers. Jaime slammed the boy against the wall, leaning on him heavily. To his surprise, Theon didn’t resist. “You didn’t know her like I did. Do you know what it’s like to love someone who pushes everyone away, who would burn down babes if it meant her getting her way? She was a knife and I her whetstone.”

What good is a whetstone with no blade to caress?

“...Yes,” Greyjoy whispered, his tawny hair almost gold in the lights of the castle. Jaime blinked at him, the boy's eyes dark with memory. “I knew a man who was a knife, and he cut me so deep I cannot pass a moment without feeling him on my skin.”

“Stark?”

"Robb was no knife. He was the ocean in a frozen wasteland. I should have drowned in him." The boy closed his eyes and shook his head, pulling Jaime to his throat. Despite himself, his traitorous prick swelled. Breath hot against his ear, Greyjoy said, “Use me if you will. Let me be her, for the night. It makes no matter.”

The spice was cloying in his nose and his mind whirled at the gesture. “Why?” 

“You want to hurt her,” he said, no question, but an understanding Jaime could not fathom. “And I want to be hurt.” 

When Jaime stripped him of his clothes, he saw the work of the knife. He pulled his cropped hair, felt the smoothness between his legs. He was almost a woman, with the saddest tits he had ever seen, but almost a woman still. He closed his eyes and felt her beneath him. He slipped his only hand around her neck and listened to her weep. When Jaime spilled his seed inside the ironborn, Greyjoy quietly cried, “Master.”


End file.
